


The Thirty-seven Steps

by writerfan2013



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: And courtship, Even a parliamentary scandal, F/M, Formalwear, Peril, Romance, beasts - Freeform, boy this has it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerfan2013/pseuds/writerfan2013
Summary: What happens after the end of Fantastic Beasts. The country teeters on the edge of a general strike, evil men are searching for Newt, and there may be something to learn from a finickactus. Tina and Newt and beasts and peril and romance.





	1. Chapter 1

She liked his strange, hesitant tenderness. She saw in his eyes a bleak landscape, tinted with wary hope. He was odd - his swift daring, his courtesy, his reticence in all things except his beloved animals. He was compelling.Pity he was now on the other side of the world.

 

But, but, perhaps he would write.

* * *

His first communication was a wire, delivered to Tina's desk like an official message. It came addressed to her brusquely by initial, surname, and division. _Arrived Southampton. Travelling onwards London. Creatures glad to be home._

No name, no sign-off. The slip of cheap office paper, and his stilted words, rendered it completely impersonal. Yet she tucked the telegram inside her winter coat and carried it around next to her heart, just as if he had handwritten a page of breathless sentiment.

His next contact was a postcard, sent, again, to her chilly office. No Dear Tina, just the postal address on the right-hand side of the dividing line. On the left, in a blue-ink mixture of cramped vowels and extravagant gs and fs, was a paragraph of information: _The facilities are excellent, everything one could wish for. My creatures are comfortable and there is no shortage of supplies for them. Work on the book proceeds steadily._

The picture on the front of the postcard was of London Zoo.

He gave no return address, no way to contact him, to reply. She had to wait, to be passive and accepting of one-way communication.

That was hard. Now that she was sure about him, as far as she could be on two days' acquaintance, she wanted to ask everything, to know it all. Instead she was cut off, by an ocean, and by him giving her nowhere to write to.

But at least he seemed keen.

* * *

The next communication came to her desk in the last week of the year. It was another postcard, this time illustrated with a drawing of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. Like the others, it was not signed, but she was coming to know his handwriting.

_Am locked up finishing the book. I think it will be over soon._

That was it. There was a smudge of blue ink at the bottom that might have been an impulsive N, or maybe an X - or a careless coat sleeve on a stray ink droplet.

She bit her lip, and rubbed her thumb over the card's postage stamp. It was a painting, of a glittering dragon, and it had one eye closed, and one eye open, and it was smiling.

* * *

Two months passed. She tried not to expect him, to look for him in the street or in the subway. She saw his blue coat everywhere. But he didn't come.

She read English newspapers, thinking that if anything bad had happened, or anything good, it might be reported. She was excessively casual at the newsstand. _Yeah, the Tribune, and, oh, why not, I'll just take the London Evening News as well, what the heck?_

British journalism was freakishly stilted. She imagined a foggy room full of men typing with gritted teeth. Details had to be dragged out of them. Grudgingly they listed the locations of soccer matches or street disturbances. Most news was only hinted at. Famous people were mentioned by their initials alone, out of some infuriating British delicacy over privacy. What was D, and why did it matter so much to Sir JF?

She sighed and ploughed through the dreary prose, but there was nothing about the creatures, or Newt.

She had too much self-respect not to take him at his word. He said he'd do a thing, therefore he would do it, and she had no need to project terrible - usually tragic - alternative scenarios onto it.

No, she had plenty of work to keep her occupied, and this peculiar British guy with his suitcase of creatures was way down her list of priorities. Way down, in his swirling coat and straggling tie, with his diffidence and his blue eyes.

"You're daydreaming," said her sister while they washed dishes one evening.

"I'm not."

"Why are the pots on the ceiling?"

"Oh."

Weeks ground by, work and sleep, work and sleep. A pain developed in her throat and lodged there, annoying and immovable, tending to worsen if she thought of him. She shrugged it away but it kept coming back.

Winter was harsh that year. She thought of the beasts, shivering behind their railings in London. Then she thought, if they are cold, he'll just put them back in his case. She put on more socks and called more flames to the fire. Her rooms had never seemed so frigid.

By February, winter was really getting into its stride: thick snow, subway delays, furnaces feebly trying to heat icy buildings.

She got home from work one night and found an advertisement in her mailbox. It was addressed to her like a personal letter, the way sales people always did, Dear Valued Customer, on the envelope. She would have tossed it straight in the trash but for one thing.

It was in his handwriting.

* * *

She ran upstairs, trailing dirty slush off her boots, shouldered open her front door, hustled through and slammed it shut. Her finger wouldn't come out of her gloves properly. She stood by the stove wiggling her fingers enough to get a warmth spell going. Then she ripped open the envelope.

_Dear Customer,_ in blue ink, _Send no money now! Write to the address below for your free sample of New Electric Winter Tonic. Don't delay! This deal is locked in! This product Heals Every Little Problem! You must check it out!_

The address read, Flat 37, The Scrambles, Marshing, Scrimshire, England.

Beneath were further exhortations: _You're In Danger of missing this great deal. Must Urgently Go Get this Limited Edition Soon - Take Our Offer!_

In tiny block capitals along the bottom edge of the sheet, he had added, _Please be cautious._

She stared at it.

It was not a difficult code to crack. The terrible grammar alone would have aroused her suspicion. _Newt. Locked in. Help. Check it out. You're in danger. Muggles too._

Two seconds later she was at her kitchen table, whisking paper and pen towards her _. Dear Newt -_

She winced. Be cautious. The paper crumpled, then tossed itself into the hearth.

_I read your ad with interest. I'm keen to see this product in person-_

Was that horribly suggestive? Yes. -Into the flames.

Third piece of paper.

_Your ad interests me greatly. I believe this new wonder product will be available b_ y - the wall calendar thrummed through the days, pages flying - _the twelfth of this month._

She hesitated, the pen hovering over the shadow of her signature. Then she threw down the pen, folded the paper, stuffed it into a new envelope, and scratched on the front the address he'd given.

She summoned an owl, and gave strict instructions to take the letter as far as the central sorting office only, and to send it onward by no-maj mail from there on. The owl gave her a dirty look - what was it there for, then? but swooped resentfully away.

Tina watched it go, over the frosted skyline, then turned and began to pack.

* * *

She worried about him all the way across the Atlantic. Research in her office had turned up nothing about him, only general news of unrest in the so-called muggle parliament. A new law had been passed but one party accused the other party of corrupting the vote, or something. It was hard to follow. The no-maj workers were threatening a general strike. The magical population seemed helpless, and every quote was a mishmash of meaningless platitudes.

At Liverpool she stood on the quayside with her case and tried to look like a regular person. The great green Liver Birds reared up on their turrets, and the elevated railway rattled past at seagull-level.

Everything here was small, like New York in miniature - fancy buildings, a kind of subway, ships lined up all along the docks - and smoky. She found the principal train station and bought a ticket to Marshing, in Scrimshire.

Hours later she dozed in a horse drawn cab - horse drawn! - bumping over frost -damaged asphalt, heading through dusky syreets towards the building called the Scrambles.

She had expected something quaint, some half-timbered throwback set among stately oaks. She quickly discovered her mistake.

"That's as far as I go, pet," said the cabbie. He clicked at the horse, and twisted his head to look at her. "You know someone in there?"

"I'm here on business," she said quickly.

He looked doubtful. "You'll not get much out of this lot, love. Rough, the lot of them. That's why all this."

He pointed at an iron gate in a high wall. Wrought lettering, arching over the entrance, labelled it The Scrambles. The wall was topped with rough render and chips of glass. The place looked like a prison. "These modern flats. No place for decent families."

"Thanks." She paid him in heavy, dull silver coins, and got down her small carpet bag, feeling alone and conspicuous.

"Watch yourself, love," he called after her. "Plenty of villains about, a young lady such as yourself-"

"I'm ok," she said, and walked through the gate.

Inside the wall loomed an ugly red brick block, modern. Ten storeys high, it was soot-stained and brutally square. Cabage smells wafted from open windows. Grubby kids hung about at the only doorway. Their trousers were ripped and ragged, their shoes open at the toes, but they all wore flat caps. British poverty.

There was no elevator. Tina walked up concrete stairs, peering hopefully at each landing to see if the numbers on offer included 37.

She reached the top floor and walked to the last door. It was number 36.

She clenched her fists in frustration. "Now what?"

"Psst."

She jumped.

The hall was empty, except for a smell of boiled fish.

"Psst."

She saw a tiny yellow crack elongate in a blank piece of wall between the two nearest doors. She glanced around. Nobody was here. She touched the glow with her wand, and it immediately expanded into a narrow doorway.

She stepped into bright yellow light, then the doorway zipped shut behind her, and she was blinking, blinded, at Newt Scamander.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Tina stepped into the doorway between doorways, and found herself in a flat which could not exist, a large, low-ceilinged apartment within the dividing wall of the flats either side. It was a giant area inside a tiny one, like Newt's suitcase. That was his magical specialism, then - impossible spaces.

 

 

Newt himself stood, hesitating, in the centre of this yellow-lit living room. 

He wore a waistcoat, and shirtsleeves, rolled up. His hair was tousled and the freckles stood out on his pale cheeks. A furry purple tail hugged his waist, and a spiny purple face peeped out from under his elbow. 

 

Newt's face crinkled into a flickering smile as Tina set down her bag. 

 

 

Behind him, occupying every inch of the little room, were his creatures, large and small, flying or stalking or slithering. They hopped and writhed and loomed, and their cries filled the air.

 

"Back inside now, all of you," said Newt, not taking his eyes off Tina. He extended his hand, pointing, and the creatures began to recede, shrinking, into an ugly picture hung on the wall behind Newt. As the room emptied, Tina saw that the picture showed an industrial scene, zigzag warehouse roofs and cobbled streets, peopled with tiny stick men and women. Smoke curled from tapering chimneys. 

 

The last of the beasts, the furry serpent around Newt's waist, tucked its head away so that Tina could not tell which end was which, then shrank and folded itself into the painting, and Newt and Tina were alone.

 

 

She glanced about. The flat was decorated with brown and green geometric wallpaper. The furniture was from the last century, or the one before. The floor was coated in sticky brown linoleum.

 

A cream-painted door led to another room on the right. An archway led to a narrow corridor equipped as a kitchen.

 

"Some place you got here," she said. "Not exactly what I -"

 

 

He stepped forward, bent and kissed her cheek. "I thought you would write. Not come all the way here."

 

Her cheek tingled where his mouth had touched her skin. She gazed up at him, whatever questions she'd had momentarily forgotten. His lips were pale.

 

He drew back, but she lay her hand on his arm. "You asked for help. I couldn't stay in New York."

 

 

He looked down at her hand as if it was an intriguing animal. "Sorry. -You must be dying for a cup of tea, would you like a cup of tea?"

 

"Thanks. Yes. Thanks."

 

He slid away to the kitchen nook.

 

"What's going on?" she said, leaning in the archway and folding her arms. "Why are you hiding here?"

 

 

He glanced over his shoulder, met her gaze and then ducked his chin down to his chest. "They've imprisoned a creature, a rare, precious creature. They locked me up until I told them how to control it." 

 

He shook his head and turned away to tend the teapot. She could only stand, looking at the back of his neck while he whisked up mugs, milk jug, tea-leaves in a stream from a metal caddy.  "Who?" she said. "What creature?"

 

 

"I escaped," he said, "of course, and came here. But I need to rescue this poor animal, and stop these wicked people."

 

He turned around, a tin mug of tea in each hand. When you are magical, you do not need to wait for the kettle to boil.

 

Tina took a mug from him. "Right," she said, noting his thin ribs and shadowed eyes. "I've been on a boat, a train and some rattling pony cart that called itself a cab. I'm too exhausted to work a story out from clues. Let's sit down so you can explain this properly." The flat was not exactly homey, but there were two low armchairs, covered in dull green chenille.

 

 

"Properly?" said Newt, and flashed her a smile. A cupboard door swung open, and a metal canister painted with roses floated out. "For that you might want a biscuit."

 

Xxx

 

"The missing creature is a dubbalum. I got it from an elderly chap who'd had it in his front  room for a long time. He was being taken off to a secure hospital, poor fellow. His mind had gone."

 

 

Tina waited. The flat, Newt's hidden flat, had no windows, she noticed.

 

"His son brought me the creature. He was not much help about where it came from orginally, or how to look after it. I thought he was distracted by grief. Anyway, I took the dubbalum in, of course."

 

 

Tina smiled.

 

"I'd never seen one before, had barely heard of them." He bit into his biscuit, rather tentatively, then set it aside. Tina ate hers whole, and Newt absently proffered the tin again. She took another biscuit - a fancy affair with a filigree pattern on top, sandwiching yellow sweet cream. It was stale, but good enough for a woman who'd crossed an ocean to be here.

 

Newt continued. He sat hunched, his whole body projecting unhappiness.

"I'd had the dubbalum for a week or so but couldn't decide what to do with it. It was quite easy to care for, but incredibly difficult to write about."

 

He jumped up and paced about. Linoleum squeaked under his scuffed tan  boots.  "It was  peculiar. Whenever I sat down to summarise my findings, I couldn't concentrate long enough to finish a sentence. I'd start thinking of something else, get up, and before I knew it I was working on another project, feeding the niffler or photographing the Weeping Bird. -The Weeping Bird is very beautiful," he added. "I'll show you one day when - Anyway. The  dubbalum was still a fascinating creature. I added a few lines about it into the book."

He paused, and pressed his knuckles to the mouth, like someone holding back words. After a moment he continued, "One night I had to go out and meet my publisher. We stayed up late talking about the book, and I didn't get back until nearly dawn. I was walking home when I realised that I felt better." 

 

 

"You'd missed them," she said. It was touching,  his devotion to the rescued animals.

 

He sat back down, wrung his hands together. "No. I mean, yes, but that wasn't it. My brain felt better. My mind became clear.

 

"It took me a while to work out that the the dubbalum was responsible for my not being able to make my mind up."

 

 

"It put a spell on you? Mesmer, maybe?" 

 

"I think it gives off some kind of general aura of confusion and indecision. Possibly distraction. That's the trouble, it's incredibly hard to tell, because you can't think about it long enough to focus." He stood once more, this time to pluck a book from a shelf. "We simply don't know much about them. Look."

 

He lay the open book on her knee and loomed over her while she squinted at the old-fashioned print. She read aloud. "The dubbalum lives in large familial groups, preferring a craggy terrain. Its society is strictly hierarchical, and every dubbalum is acutely aware of its place in the structure. These creatures may become aggressive when cornered. Or they may not. Where did I put my pipe."

 

 

Tina looked up. "That's it?"

 

"That's it. Those words were taken from the posthumous works of an eighteenth century Chinese professor who is the only person known to have studied them. Everyone assumed the dubbalum was extinct. Or that it did not exist at all, since the professor went insane before he died." Newt sighed, and bit his lip.

 

 

Tina turned the page. "There's a picture."

 

"Yes. He must have drawn it from memory, away from the animal itself. It's quite accurate."

 

Tina saw a midnight blue creature, bird-like in shape but with thick furry legs and a head like a toy bear. "Wait-" Beside the illustration was a note.

 

"You're not reading it wrong. That's its size." Newt held up his finger and thumb an inch apart. "It's tiny."

 

"But it sent the professor crazy? Maybe the old man you got it from, too."

 

"That thought did occur." He looked grim. "I never got a chance to confirm. I opened my door one night to four men who told me I was going with them." He studied his fingernails, frowning.

 

"Four men! I guess they were worried about the creatures."

 

"They were wrong about that. In the end it only took one man to get hold of my creatures, and the other three to get hold of me." He darted a look at her.

 

"What did they do?" she whispered, for the shine in his eye might have been anger, or tears.

 

He bent his head. "They went straight for my finickactus, and said they'd snap its neck if I didn't go with them. I had no choice. They meant to kill him. But I almost tore them apart as they took me away." 

 

"Oh Newt -"

 

"He was all right," Newt said. "He's all right now. You saw him earlier. On me." He tapped his stomach, where the furry serpent had been wrapped around him before. "The thugs didn't even know where his neck was."


	3. Chapter 3

Newt said, "I was taken to an underground room and locked in. I don't know where it was. But I could hear the Tube above my head, so it was somewhere pretty deep... After a long while, one of the men in black came back. He had a folder full of photographs."

Newt was on his feet again, pacing. Tina couldn't sit there while he swung from one end of the flat to the other, so she stood too. She ached from travelling, but refused to appear less tough than him.

"The men showed me the photographs one at a time, asking which one was the dubbalum."

"They didn't even know!"

"They haven't read as many magizoology books as I have." He gave a half smile, only a twitch. "I thought of lying, of telling them the erumpent was the dubbalum, and letting her trample them into the carpet..."

"You didn't," she said. He was too gentle for that.

"No. I didn't know where my creatures were. What they might do to them. I hoped they had not even found the dubbalum, but halfway through the folder, there it was. They were watching me closely, they knew from my face that this was the one."

"I'll make more tea," said Tina, pulling out her wand.

"I'm sorry, my manners, of course you're welcome to more-"

"I mean for you," she said, and that silenced him. "Carry on."

"They put the dubbalum in the room with me and told me to study it."

"That was it? What, they couldn't wait for the book to come out?" She handed him fresh tea, placing the mug right into his hands. She tried for her sister's _Drink it!_ look, the look for when Tina was too tired or lost even to eat.

Newt sipped tea. Well, who knew the look would actually work. "Of course I couldn't work on the dubbalum. The confusion it gave out only got stronger and stronger the longer I spent with it. I thought my head would burst."

"How did you get free?"

"I realised I would be a goner if I stayed there. They'd taken my wand, but I have some skill without it..."

Tina realised she hadn't seen Newt use a wand at all since she arrived. He must be a powerful wizard indeed, to control magic so precisely without his wand.

"Mostly over living things," he said quickly. "Anyway, I persuaded my jailer to let me visit my animals. Check them. And when I reached the horrible dungeon they were locked up in, I signalled to them that they were to break down the door and get my wand from its hiding place. Several of the creatures are excellent seekers."

"Did you apparate away?"

"Well, partly. I got above ground. Then I caught the Tube."

She laughed.

He shrugged one shoulder. "Fastest way to get out of London."

"Why come here?" Liverpool, or rather, a tiny county beyond Liverpool's bounds, was hardly the obvious choice for a fugitive.

Newt wrinkled his nose. "I once was sent on holiday here, and remembered it as being particularly difficult to get to."

"You're not wrong."

The tea was reviving him. He stood up and stretched. "It's actually a little awkward your being here," he said. "I imagined you'd stay at home and investigate using your contacts at MACUSA."

"Oh." She hadn't even thought of that. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad to see you. But it leaves us a little blind."

She felt the weight of her ocean crossing on them, her madness, coming here to try to help a man she barely knew. He must think her a fool. She could not bear that - she must be useful. "So who were the men who kidnapped you?"

"I've no idea. They wore a lot of black. They were muggles. That's all. -They were frightened of me."

"Sounds like you gave them a reason."

"Well. Perhaps." He spread his hands. " -I don't know where I was held, either. It took me about a week to stop feeling fuzzy and write to you."

"What about the dubbalum?"

Newt glanced away. "That's the worst part of all of this. Whenever I touched it, I couldn't think, and I needed to save the rest of my creatures. I just... had to leave it. They've still got it."

She touched his arm. "We'll get it back."

He whirled away across the room. "What must it think of me? I'm certain the distraction it gives off is a defence mechanism, when the dubbalum feels afraid or threatened. Even if - when - we get it back, It will never trust me now ."

She pondered this. "Did it trust you to begin with?"

He shook his head.

"But you're so good with animals," she said. "Surely they begin to trust you over the weeks?"

"Usually," he said. "You have to remain calm, and consistent. Do the same things, offer food at the same time, make no unexpected moves, be predictable. Animals like to feel secure, that they can judge your next action."

His eyes lit up as he spoke of his work. "Even the most nervous creatures can be soothed with a regular routine and unrelenting care. It's vital for them to know that you are reliable, that your promises mean what they say."

Tina, looking at his bright eyes, thought that she could never doubt him. She said, "The dubbalum. You did all that, and still it was aggressive, afraid?"

"I think so. I mean. It may be that the dubbalum is permanently throwing out signals to thwart its enemies. I suppose its predators may have developed immunities to the signals but... I don't know."

"All right," she said, warming to the task. "What do we know about the dubbalum, apart from its confusion spray?"

"It's not a spray," he said. "It's psychic."

"Yes. What else? Hierarchical society, what does that mean?"

"Well. Same as humans. They live by rules. It would be a bit like dinner with the King. Who sits where would be terribly important." He gave an unhappy grin. "To be placed in the wrong position at a banquet would be torment for a dubbalum."

She had to smile at the idea. "Ok... so maybe you placed it in the wrong position."

"I thought of that. I tried to indicate subservience...or dominance...to give it a place in the social chain. But I only made things worse."

Tina sighed. "Right. Leaving that aside for the moment..."

"This is real police work, isn't it?" Newt interrupted. "What aurors do all day. Ask questions, make logical conclusions."

"More or less."

"It's sort of what I do too."

"I suppose it is. What I was going to say was-"

"-Sorry-"

"-It's ok. Why did these men want the dubbalum ? What did they think it would do for them?"

"Nothing," said Newt. "I think I was pretty clear with them, that anyone anywhere near a dubbalum is as good as useless."

"Great," she said.

He froze, staring open mouthed at her. "How exactly is that great?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Now we know that they want to use it as a weapon."

He sank into the chair and put his face in his hands.

"It's a clue," she said. "An idea. Who would benefit from confusing who else?"

"I don't know," he said, muffled.

"Ok. So now you're hiding, but I don't get it, why not go straight to your Ministry for Magic? They'd fix this."

"I don't dare," he said. "Because I think someone from the Ministry is at the heart of all this." He set down his empty mug. "I need to check on my creatures. Care to come?" He rose, and stood in front of the industrial picture. Tina saw the painter's name: _Lowry_ , in childlike brush strokes. His painting showed a world of hurrying, drooping people, but Tina knew that a brighter, crazier world lay within, created by a man who saw not downtrodden lives, but hope.

Newt drew his wand and touched the painting, and a magical doorway opened in the flat, and Tina stepped in.

* * *

Inside the picture, arctic plains howled beside shimmering jungle. Newt wove between habitats to a small safari shack: his workshop. It held books and papers and a hammock, and Newt's long blue coat, hanging on a shepherd's crook.

"I can help," Tina said.

They fed and watered and counted and shooed the animals into their right places. At the end, Newt said, "Let's see how Chaplin's getting on. The finickactus." He led the way to a clearing in a chilly forest. "Stay still," he murmured. "Look."

Tina watched as a violet-coloured serpent, three feet long and covered in thumb-sized spines, crept into the clearing.

Following it was the purple furry creature Newt had worn around his waist. The new arrival reared up on its tail and swayed side to side, then began an undulating dance, while its violet companion looked on from a nearby log.

The dance went on for some time. Tina fell to watching Newt as well as the finickactus. He stood transfixed, eyes alight, encouraging the creatures with silent nods and smiles.

Then the violet serpent rolled off its log, yelped once, and slithered away faster than Tina would have thought possible.

The purple finickactus yelped too, plaintively, and headed straight for Newt.

"Oh dear," said Newt, scooping it up and draping it around his neck like a scarf. "Never mind, old chap. Better luck next time, eh?"

They began to walk back to the safari shack. "What's wrong?" Tina asked, picking her way between unknown nests and hives while Newt stroked and soothed the finickactus.

"Poor chap's fluffed his lines. Again."

At the workshop, Newt unwound the finickactus and held it out to Tina.

It came to her trustingly, slipping around her shoulders, its spines surprisingly warm and soft for a creature that appeared so spiky.

"Courtship ritual," Newt explained. "Finickactus have a fiendishly complicated thirty-six step ritual, which the male must follow, exactly and in sequence, to impress the female. Poor old Chaplin here can never get past step thirty-five. Though he did make a cry at the end, so maybe I should stop calling him Chaplin. Is that right, old boy?" He ruffled Chaplin's head where it lay on Tina's shoulder. "If the male fails to perform every step, the lady rejects him, as we saw. It's tough on the men."

"I'll say. I'm glad humans don't have anything like that."

"Courtship rituals?" he said. "We do."

"Do we? I guess." She pondered it. "Oh. I get it. Dinner, dancing, a walk under the stars..."

He looked pained.

"What will Chaplin do now?" she asked. "Now his lady friend has said No?"

Newt reached for the finickactus, drawing it gently away from Tina and laying it in a little basket on his desk. "Only one thing he can do if he really wants her attention. Keep trying."


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

"We need a plan," said Tina, thinking of the dubbalum, the kidnap, the threat from the Ministry. She rubbed  her eyes. The safari shack was stuffed with objects, and she could not think straight.

 

"It's hard to come up with ideas on an empty stomach." Newt looked at a clock hanging from a hatstand. The other hooks were occupied by blue bats.  "Are you hungry?"

 

"Starving." The tea and custard creams had hardly been a meal.

 

Newt said, "Then let's go and find some dinner." He plucked his blue coat from its crook and flung it on. 

 

Once out of the picture, she put on her coat, and hat. "I know a place," Newt said. "A muggle place, but I think you'll like it."

 

"I guess that means we're walking," she said. She was dog tired. But she also needed food. She guesed his cupboards were bare, if he was a typical man. 

 

He peered at her. "Some muggles know about magic," he said. "People married to wizards, for example. Or who have magical children."

 

"Does that mean we can apparate?"

 

He smiled, and offered his arm. "Well, perhaps not right up to the bar."

 

The pub was called the Swan and Railway, a tall thin building beside the tracks which ran past, but did not stop at, The Scrambles. Its frosted glass windows were etched with curlicues and the words _Fine Wines And Spirits, High Class Rooms._ Underneath was plastered a notice: _Hot dinners, Bring Yer Own Plate._

 

Newt winked at Tina and pushed open the pub door. Smoke and gaslight poured into the icy street, and the sharp smell of beer filled Tina's nostrils. 

 

"Doctor Smith! It's yourself!"

 

Every head turned, and a woman with flaming red hair and a jewel-green dress gripped Newt by the shoulders and shook him fiercely. 

 

He gave a wan smile. "Nice to see you, Mrs Reilly."

 

 

 

"Come in, come in, you'll be sitting down with us, fetch a cloth Martin, Podraic, Podraic, set the chairs now -"

 

Tina allowed herself to be hustled past a row of men in flat caps gazing into large beer glasses, to a space at the back of the pub where a small square table waited. Youngsters scrambled with table cloth, candles, silverware.

 

"Oh Doctor, how are you, are you well, you look terrible thin, you must eat, and Rover is a mile better since you tended him - "

 

Newt reached into his coat and pulled out two tin plates.

 

"The manners of him! Podraic!" This in a bellow. "Pie!"

 

"I saved their spaniel after a motor car accident," whispered Newt as he pulled out Tina's chair. "I'm well, Mrs Reilly."

 

"And you've a friend," said the landlady, noticing Tina.

 

"Mrs Reilly, this is Miss Jones," said Newt.

 

Tina nodded and smiled. She and the landlady were the only women in here.

 

Mrs Reilly looked Tina up and down. Her mouth twitched down a little. "Well, she's beautiful enough," she pronounced. "I suppose. Now eat up before it starts. It's pie tonight." She swept away, taking the plates with her. 

 

"It's always pie tonight," said Newt. "But that's not really why I come here."

 

 

 

"Before what starts," said Tina.

 

"Pie," said Mrs Reilly, slamming down Newt's plates, now filled.

 

The pie was rabbit, or pigeon, or both.

"Poached," said Newt. 

 

"Baked," said Tina. "Surely.  How would you poach a pie?"

 

"No, I mean they've stolen it from somewhere. Some great landowner who won't miss a few rabbits. Or squirrels."

 

 

 

"What?"

 

"The last source of free food in a world where work is controlled by the few."

 

"Newt. Am I eating squirrel?"

 

He smiled. "No."

 

 

 

"That's a relief."

 

"Probably."

 

"Oh!" But he was grinning at her,  and looked so much better, so much happier, that she could not be infuriated. 

 

Mrs Reilly brought bottles of stout. "He'll be on in a minute," she said. "We've some upstairs gents came special to see him." She nodded to a stairway leading, presumably, to the high class boarding rooms.

 

"Thank you," said Newt, taking the stout as reverently as if she had presented champagne on a cushion. The landlady fluttered and bashed him on the shoulder, and went off twittering. Newt's charm, Tina thought, his courtesy and modesty, but it was all genuine. 

 

"Cheers," said Newt, and they clinked bottles.

 

Tina slurped beer and thought how strange it was to be in England, in a pub run by crazy Irish, with a man she barely knew but would never tire of looking at.

 

 

 

He was gazing at her too. "Tina -"

 

Then the music started. 

 

One man with a fiddle and a stamping foot, one man but he created such a noise that Tina forgot her beer and stared, entranced, as liquid music flowed from the fiddle and up to the tobacco-stained ceiling and curled itself all around the drinkers and the eaters, weaving between the beer glasses and the tired faces like smoke, like sound turned silk.

 

Men got up to dance on the scratched floorboards, linking arms and twirling around each other. The landlady and her sons joined in.

 

"Well," said Newt, beginning to rise.

 

"Who's that?" said Tina. She nodded at a man coming, not through the front door, but down the stairs, behind Newt. He wore a black trilby and black coat, and his face was clenched n an expression that made Tina think _perp_ before she had even spoken.

 

"Oh no." Newt leaped up. "Quick." He grabbed Tina's hand and ran for the front door. 

 

It was blocked by two more men. "Newt Scamander," sneered the nearest, and bunched his fists.

 

Newt flinched away. "Here-" He tugged Tina towards the kitchen, bundled her inside. "Merlin's beard - " There was no other door. Startled youths stopped pot-washing and stared through the steam at them. "Well, if my cover's blown -"

 

He reached for his wand, sheathed at his side under his coat. Tina drew hers out of her pocket. "My place," said Newt, and she nodded, and they exploded away as the kitchen door burst in.

 

* * *

 

The flat, which had seemed claustrophobic to Tina earlier, now seemed blessedly enclosed. She threw off her coat, which reeked of pipe smoke, and flung herself into a chair. They had escaped, but she was shivering.

 

Newt checked the walls, tracing his wand around the edge of the room, murmuring spells of secrecy and strength. Then he reached into the Lowry painting, whistled, and withdrew his hand, now holding the purple finickactus.

 

He came to Tina and lay the creature around her shoulders. It settled at once, forming itself to her shape, emitting a rhythmic huff.

 

"You _are_ privileged," said Newt. "He normally only makes that noise for her." He tickled the finickactus and it wriggled and opened one eye, surprising Tina, who'd thought its head was the other end.

 

"He's so warm..." Her shivers had vanished.

 

"Comforting, isn't he? if you ever feel lost or lonely, just pop him on and everything gets better."

 

She yawned. The finickactus' warm body was making her sleepy. 

 

Newt unwound Chaplin from Tina's neck. "It's late. Let me make up the guest room."

 

* * *

 

The guest room was more than adequate, especially for a space invented by Newt while Tina was cleaning her teeth. Bed, chair, nightstand, a small fire. Pink satin quilts piled up on the bed. That was a sweet touch.

 

She realised that there was no main bedroom in the flat.

 

"I'm going to stay up for a bit, might work on the book," said Newt, with the air of a man who plans to stay up all night, working on the book. "Goodnight."

 

"Goodnight."

 

She woke some time later and wandered into the kitchen in her wrap, looking for a glass of water.  The cupboards were stacked with food, she noticed vaguely.

 

She drank, and was returning through the living room when she realised.

 

Newt was not there. 

 

For a second her heart lurched - had he run away from her again? - but then she looked at the painting, and smiled. She tied up her wrap, touched the picture with her wand, and went in.

 

She found him in the safari shack, draped in the hammock, snoring.

 

All around him were the beasts. Large ones lay stretched on the floor, resting their noses against his dangling foot, getting as close to him as they could. Little ones had tucked themselves into the hammock all around him, covering his chest. And snuggled into the crook of Newt's neck, purring contentedly, was the finickactus.

 

Tina stood gazing at Newt, and tears came into her eyes. She watched him for a little while, and then crept away.

 

* * *

 

_Author's note: Hope you like this story so far! As usual this was meant to be short and now isn't. It will definitely be romantic. Let me know what you think!_

 

_There is a real Swan and Railway pub near me. But I don't think it's run by the Reillys.-Sef_


	5. Chapter 5

Tina woke to the sound of magic being undone. She was on her feet, wrap flying, wand in hand, before she saw Newt in the living room, deconstructing the flat into a series of puzzle boxes.

 

"You're up," he said, turning to her with a slight smile as she lowered her wand. "I was just wondering how to do the living room without disturbing you."

"Where are we going?"

He wore his waistcoat and his tweed jacket. His trouser legs were tucked into his battered tan boots. "I'm not sure yet. But we can't stay here. Those men found me at the Swan. That's too close for comfort."

"We still don't have any idea what they want." She withdrew in the guest room and closed the door. She called through, "And they've got the dubbalum, why do they want you?"

"They think I can control it, I suppose."

She whisked open her case with a flick of her wand, and clothes flew out and lined up in the air in front of her. -Pants, obviously. Who would choose to flee in skirts? -Her pale pink blouse, quite smart, but also beautiful, and importantly, it didn't crease. Her workaday coat, it was all she had. 'But nobody can control it. Whoever's got it must be in a terrible state."

She dressed in a flash, and emerged with her travelling bag.

Newt eyed her, and produced from midair a red silk handkerchief, which he tucked into his top pocket.

The flat was bare. The picture was gone from the wall. "Where are the creatures?" Tina asked.

"In my case." He nodded at it, open flat on the bare floor. Two waves of his wand, and Tina's guest room collapsed and vanished into a tiny box with an intricate inlaid wooden lid. Newt picked it up and lay it in the case.

"That's what we should do," she said.

He looked at her.

"Find out people who have been driven mad. The dubbalum must be terrified." Newt winced. "It will be giving off the most possible confusion to anyone who touches it. That would leave a pretty big trail, I'd think."

Newt's lips parted, then closed. "Brilliant," he said.

Tina said, "Find me a newspaper library. And some coffee. Then maybe I'll be brilliant. We've got to find that dubbalum."

Newt nodded at Tina's bag. "I can put that in here if you like."

"Thanks." So much miniaturisation and displacement, yet he seemed under no strain. She had rarely met anyone with such power. And never anyone who had such gentleness with it.

Newt lifted his case. "Ready?"

She put her arm through his. He smelled of lavender, not the feminine perfume, but something dark and peppery, the plant itself, purple fire and blazing Mediterranean sunset. "Ready."

" _Disintegrus_ ," whispered Newt, and together they flew up as the flat evaporated around them.

.

* * *

Liverpool loomed in the rain. The ferry ploughed through the grey waters of the Mersey, belching smoke and steam.

"There's a tunnel under the river," said Newt. "But not for foot passengers."

"It's an amazing view," she said. "Even in the rain."

"That's the Mersey Trumpet building," he said, pointing. "Their archives run back years, though I think we'll only need the last couple of months."

"I'm wondering how they plan to use the dubbalum," she said. "It's dangerous -"

Newt opened his mouth.

"I mean it's dangerous when defending itself - so how can they plan to use it without going mad themselves?"

"I don't know," Newt said. "Perhaps they've found a way of silencing it, but I don't know of any."

A thought struck Tina, a nasty thought. She bit her lip. Best not to voice that idea. But there was a possibility which Newt, with the creature's interests at heart, would never have considered.

"In which case," she said, "they can only want you in order to shut you up."

"That's not very cheerful." He leaned on the boat's rail, careless of rain lashing his face. The case was clamped between his feet. He turned his head to look at her, her hat sagging in the downpour. "Lucky I have an auror at my side."

She didn't know what to say to that. He was gazing at her earnestly, with many things unsaid between them, but how do you start with love? "We still need to know who they are," she said.

He turned his face back to the view. "We're docking," he said.

* * *

The quayside thronged with burly, flat-capped men holding placards. _Equal pay, equal privilege! No production without protection!_

"What's that about?" Tina asked.

Newt was forging them a path through the glaring, rough-clothed workers. "Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. Excuse me-"

As they arrived, breathless, on the far side of the crowd, Tina saw a sign bearing a picture instead of words: a crumpled wizard's hat, with a red line slashed through it.

The workers roared, "We work while they play! Equality now!"

"Inside," said Newt, clasping Tina's arm and hurrying her up stone steps into a white marble building. The doors bore crossed gilt trumpets. "In we go."

* * *

"There's going to be a muggle general strike," Newt said as Tina leafed through giant binders of recent newspapers. He was flicking the lock on his case, checking and rechecking. "The country will come to a standstill if that happens. No trains, no coal, no milk, no factories running. The Ministry of Magic is working with the muggle parliament to stop it. But they are only one department, and there are far more muggles in power."

"A standstill," she said. The papers had generated no clues about madness, only the endless political crisis.

"What are you thinking?" He stopped fiddling with his case and looked at her.

"Well. Who would benefit from the country being paralysed?" She thought of all those men, not working, not being paid - the silent factories and the hungry children.

"Our enemies, I suppose."

"From the war?"

"And those who want a change of government - oh. I see what you mean."

"A strike," she said, feeling glad she studied all those dreary English papers, "could mean the government is dissolved in a vote of no confidence. Then the King has to invite someone else to form a new government."

Newt was looking at her admiringly.

"I think this is related to the missing dubbalum," she said.

"If parliament can't agree how to satisfy the workers, if the Deregulation bill is passed... Britain would lose its global influence... Good grief." He shook his damp hair out of his eyes. "There could be war between muggles and magical people."

'Who would want any of that?" Who would win, she wondered, in such a war? Magic, most likely, but at what horrific cost? And how could they ever live with the no-majs again?

"Someone who is certain that whatever the outcome, they'll have power."

"Right. So our question is, who wants to be the next prime minister? And who has the knowledge to try to use magic to make it happen?"

"That's easy," said Newt. "Sir James Fox. The Minister for Magic."

* * *

"Hush!" Tina glanced wildly around. The newspaper library was quiet, but not completely empty of other browsers. She hissed at Newt, "Are you serious?"

Sir James was the JF referred to so delicately by the papers she'd read in New York. He was the highest-ranking magical person in Britain, and notionally the Member of Parliament for Edgefield.

"You can't accuse him!"

"It makes perfect sense," said Newt in a low vouce. "He has the power to track me but also to draw muggles into his plans. And he's fighting for Deregulation."

"I read about that..."

"Deregulation of magic use. James Fox believes Britain is being held by back its strict controls. He thinks Britain can avoid a financial crisis by harnessing magic. The muggle workers are afraid they'll be out of a job if magic is used in factories and shops."

"But you can't use magic for everything," said Tina. She spread her hands on the binder, pressing her palms onto its inky sheets.

"I know. There simply aren't enough magical people, for a start. Part of Nature's checks and balances. But the muggles don't know that."

"So if the government collapsed over this strike..."

"Sir James will pop up and offer to sort it all out under a government which permits the use of magic wherever possible."

Tina's brain hurt. She imagined the new law spreading to America, the no-majs learning of the wizarding world. "That could never work. It would be chaos."

Newt said, "Some people love chaos." He pressed his mouth shut and looked up at her through his straggling hair.

 _Grindelwald_. But neither of them said the name.

"We're getting somewhere," she said. "We just need to find the dubbalum -"

"-and work out a way to get it to stop spreading confusion." He nodded.

A chill developed in Tina's gut. Guilt, although she had done no more than think a thought. "We'll think of something," she said. "Keep working on it."

She knew already what she might have to do. But if it came to it - if she did this thing, this terrible thing, to stop the dubbalum and save the muggles and the magical community from disaster...

-Newt would never forgive her.

"There has to be a way to stop it," she said.

"We'll think of it," said Newt. He hesitated, then lay his fingers on the back of her hand. "Between us."

The chill in her belly turned heavy like ice, ugly ice left in the gutters at the end of winter.

"Where could the dubbalum be?" she said, swallowing away fear. His fingers lay light and gentle over her chilly, guilty ones. She drew her hand away.

"Well, if we're right," said Newt, blinking, "there's only one logical place. The Houses of Parliament."


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

 

They used the long railway journey to make plans. A throng of people crowded the giant concourse at Liverpool, more men in flat caps and coarse overcoats. The ticket hall, under its arching glass roof, was rammed with sullen passengers handing over tiny coins for third class seats.

 

Newt took one look at the crush and purchased first class tickets - the privilege of wealth, but Tina did not complain. She was jostled and ogled by a dozen men as she fought through the crowd with Newt, and her withering glare did nothing to protect her.

 

Newt slammed the carriage door on the smoke, the steam and the rudeness. He and Tina had a tiny compartment to themselves -  two plush benches facing one another, and nets overhead for luggage. Newt opened his case and pulled out a small table, complete with pens, inkwell, in-tray stuffed with stationery and a wire wastepaper basket underneath.  A halo of purple fuzz showed around his collar: he was wearing Chaplin like a scarf, again.

 

Tina was hemmed in beside the window with a view, at first, of slate roofs and then deep green countryside. She drew breath and was grateful for the privacy and silence.

 

Newt proceeded to pull from his pockets enormous maps, which he spread on the table. The in-tray slid off onto Tina's bench, spilling paper.

 

Newt dipped a slender gold pen into the well.  "Would you pass me a sheet of scrap? Thank you."

 

Tina reached for the in-tray. Coloured notepaper was heaped in it. She picked up the top piece, and found it covered with dainty handwriting.

 

"Oh." She could not stop herself seeing, _Mr Scamander, You'll think this forward, but I must express my tenderest love -_

 

 

She dropped the sheet like a slug mistaken for a lipstick. 

 

Newt winced. He tucked purple fur back inside his coat. "I get a lot of offers," he said, and used his coat sleeve to sweep the whole lot into the wastepaper basket. "Marriage, and so on."

 

About twenty sheets of pink, lilac and apricot paper had just gone in the trash. Tina saw him afresh: Newt Scamander, renowned magizoologist, eligible bachelor.

  

"I keep the paper for jotting," he said.

 

"Mmn."  It was none of her business, of course. But the sight of two dozen flowery love notes got right up her nose.

 

"It's all right," he said, ducking his head to glance sideways at her. "Most of them think I'm my brother."

 

She simply looked at him, and he looked back. A faint colour tinged his cheekbones, dimming his freckles. After a while he said, "We're going to approach the House of Commons from the river, and enter via the Terrace."

 

* * *

 

The Houses of Parliament sits directly on the Thames, its south wall descending straight into the choppy water. Victoria Tower looms to the west, and to the east stands the famous Elizabeth Tower, holding Big Ben, the bell whose chimes can be heard all across Westminster.

 

Newt and Tina arrived at dusk in a barge operated by a scrawny elf. His business, perfectly illegal, was haulage of magical supplies along a muggle-operated waterway, namely, the Thames. Tina's MACUSA papers were enough to convince him the she and Newt were magical goods.

 

The Thames glowed bronze under a glorious sky. The river terrace was lit, with dozens of lanterns strung above a host of men and women in evening clothes.

 

"Ah," said Newt. "I'd expected it to be empty."

 

"I'd expected it to be at water level," said Tina. The balustrade edging the House of Commons terrace was about thirty feet above the river.

 

"Yes, we'll have to fly up..."

 

Tina sighed. 

 

"I'm not hanging about waiting," said the barge elf. "I got things to do, people to see."

 

Tina turned her best auror glare on him.

 

"It's all right," said Newt quickly. "Probably go out by the front door, anyway."

 

He took out his wand. "Fly up, jump down. We'll walk in, nobody will notice."

 

"But -"

 

There was dancing up there on the terrace. The people wore gowns or tails. A band twinkled soft music. Tina and Newt were windswept on a barge in travelling clothes.

 

"You're right," he said. "Quick change..."

 

In two seconds he wore a black velvet evening coat and black trousers with a silk seam. He waited for her.

 

"Ah - " What were the English women wearing? It sure as heck wasn't knee length with fringes and sequins. These people had never seen a speakeasy. Tina, straining her eyes through the twilight,  glimpsed a woman in a draped ankle length beige gown, with a kind of trailing cape, and a lot of long necklaces. It looked ok, so she copied that. -In brilliant aquamarine; she had some self respect.

 

Newt's eyes widened slightly. She distinctly saw appreciation in them, before he blinked it away. He held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. They jumped.

 

The terrace was crammed, but once they wriggled through the crush they reached the dining room inside, cleared of tables and functioning, for tonight, as a ballroom. Couples circled in strict three-four time.

 

"Better dance," Newt said. 

 

"I don't know how to do this sort of dancing-"

 

He grimaced  "The man leads. That's all there is to it, really." He led her to a row of plush chairs, where women in long gowns sat holding tiny glasses of some thick amber drink. Newt said, "We need to know if the Minister is here before we look for the dubbalum. You make discreet enquiries of your partners, and I'll do the same at the bar."

 

"Newt, I don't think I -"

 

He released her,  bowed, and vanished into the crowd. Two seconds later she saw him on the far side of the room, deep in conversation with some grizzled old gents beside the bar.

 

"Right." She set her mouth grimly. Now how did you get a man to ask you to dance?

 

This was more her sister's area, although Queenie never had to sit more than a minute for a man to notice her. 

 

Newt whistled past her with another venerable Member. "Smile," he hissed, and was gone.

 

Tina smiled, feeling like an idiot.

 

But it worked. A red-faced fat man approached and offered his arm. She rose and allowed him to wrap his sweaty palm over her hand, and then to plunge around the dance floor, Tina tripping and stumbling. She quickly established that he was not Sir James and knew nothing of him.

 

She danced with three more large, perspiring men who were clearly thrilled to lead her around the floor. All she could establish, between dodging dubious compliments, was that Sir James would be arriving after midnight, for the late night parliamentary session. 

 

She knew there were frequently late-night votes in the House. Tonight's,  it seemed, was to do with the unrest among the workers. An emergency law needed to be passed, declaring special measures. This would end the crisis and give the government a firm footing to wipe out the nonsense about deregulation. 

 

Her companions did not want to talk, however. They were keen to clutch her rather tightly and fetch her strong drink between times.

 

Revolted, she escaped the latest sweaty partner and sought her chair. No sooner had she sat down, head bent in fatigue, than another pair of trouser legs appeared in front of her.

 

 

"I'm not dancing any more," she said, keeping her eyes on the polished floor.

 

"That's a shame," said Newt, holding out his hand. "I hoped we might take a turn so we can exchange our findings."

 

 

"Oh!"

 

The band was playing a three step, a sumptuous number brimming with Viennese flourishes.

 

She rose, and gave him her hand. 

 

He flashed her a smile, and clasped her around the waist with  one arm, his other hand winding around hers. He gave her a single raised eyebrow.

 

She couldn't remember how to waltz, but luckily he knew the steps. She tucked herself in close to him and let him lead the way around the floor in a mingled swirl of skirts and coat tails. 

 

"Did you find the Minister?" he breathed against her hair.

 

"He's coming to vote later. They must plan to put the dubbalum right in the chamber."

 

"We'll slip away from here and find it," he said. "Just need to spot the exit."

 

They circled the room, chest to chest, because a waltz was far more intimate than the Charleston. That involved jump and jiggle, sure, but this had you pressed against your partner's body, your nose beside his ear, your lips beside his warm neck, breathing him in. Tina closed her eyes.

 

Newt was rosemary now, dark and spicy. Some herb concoction he'd been mixing for the creatures, maybe, or perhaps simply his aftershave. His chin against her cheekbone was perfectly smooth.

 

She kept losing track of her arms and legs.

 

"Sorry," said Newt.

 

His clasp was so gentle she felt she might slip away at any moment. Suddenly she realised why. "It's OK," she said, leaning back a little to look at him. "Just - it's OK."

 

He gave an upwards nod. He didn't speak, but his left hand on her shoulderblades pressed her closer to him, and his right thumb caressed the back of her hand.

 

For a moment, just a moment, it would be all right to have her sister's boldness. Then Tina could say, in Queenie's voice,  _Hey. I really like you. I got the feeling it's mutual. Should we maybe do something about that?_

 

She tilted her head a little, and leaned her cheek on Newt's jaw. She was not very bold, but how he held her so carefully, and how she kept his hand in hers, seemed wonderful and right.  If they weren't in a room full of people she might have kissed him ( _on the neck, Teenie? You're outrageous!_ ) and found out what he made of _that_ courtship ritual.

 

Newt said, "There's a little door back there -"

 

"...Right. Let's go." 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

 

Tina crept with Newt along green-carpeted corridors, past green doors and windows with green curtains. "There's a divide between the House of Commons and the House of Lords," said Newt. "On the Lords side, everything is red."

 

They had memorised Newt's map, and found their way to the famous parliamentary chamber, rows of benches either side of a high wood-panelled room. The benches were upholstered in green leather, and tiny brass portcullises punctuated the end of each row, but still Tina's first thought was, _bleachers_ \- opposing teams facing each other, ready to roar their support or disapproval. 

 

At the end sat a chair it was impossible to label anything but  _throne_. Or referee's chair.

 

Around the top of the room ran a gallery where the public might sit to view government in action. In the centre of the main floor was a smaller bench. "For independents," said Newt. "Members of neither main party. Magic sits there."

 

"So every nomaj politician knows about magic?" said Tina.

 

"Yes. Unless they're really determined not to notice." His voice trailed off. "I feel clear headed. How about you?"

 

"Fine."

 

"It could be anywhere."

 

"We better start looking." But how do you look for a one-inch-tall dark blue creature which has been hidden by people who don't want it found? Tina lifted her wand and murmured words of revelation.

 

Newt crept around the chamber, calling softly to the dubbalum. After several minutes and no such access, he straightened up and pushed his hair back off his forehead. "I'm not sure why I'm bothering, the dubbalum never came to me anyway -"

 

He stopped, his hand still in his hair. "I wonder," he said.

 

"What?" Tina left the back benches, where she had been searching among the seats, and joined Newt in the centre of the chamber.

 

Ha eyes were bright. "I was watching you dancing," he said. 

 

"Ugh."

 

"Those men. They, ah, were not at all respectful."

 

"Say that again." Those men had been grotesque.

 

"And this morning. In Liverpool. All the workers. Men, again."

 

"Yeah, pretty unpleasant to claw our way through the crowd. I felt like meat on a slab the way some of them looked at me." It was not unusual, but it had been, somehow, disappointing.

 

"That's my point," said Newt. "I didn't notice, I mean, I didn't specifically notice that it was hostile. Towards you." He tilted his head back to look up around the chamber. "This is a male world. Every Member of Parliament is a man. Every drinker in a pub is a man. Every train driver and taxi cabbie, a man."

 

"Some women work," Tina said.

 

"Plenty do," said Newt. "But the single women are away in their mills and factories, and the married women are at home raising children. They're not in the streets, trying to make their way." He gestured with his wand, and gazed up into the rafters. "What if the dubbalum is a female?"

 

He ducked his head and met Tina's gaze.

 

"Alone in a male world," she said. 

 

"Perhaps I could never have won her trust," said Newt. "-It gives us something to try, anyway. I'll go and tuck myself away in a corner, and you...."

 

"Stay and be a female friend," she said. 

 

Newt pointed. "If I wanted a confusion signal to spread across as much of the room as possible, I'd hide a dubbalum there."

 

Tina's gaze follows the line of his arm to the speaker's chair. "Right in the middle. But, Newt-"

 

He stopped in the midst of turning away.

 

"These people," she said. "They've found a way to silence it. Even if it, she, wants to be my friend - she might not trust any human. She might be.... hurt." She could not bear to say the idea she'd had about how the dubbalum might be silenced.

 

"Then let's find her as quickly as possible," said Newt.

 

Tina climbed the dais to the speaker's chair. Cooing softly, as she had heard Newt do, she hunted all around the platform, under the chair, behind it. Her mind ached with the idea that at any moment an onslaught of confusion might be unleashed.

 

The dubbalum was not there.

 

* * *

 

"Well, that explains why we've not felt any ill effects," Newt said. He and Tina stood, dispirited, in the middle of the chamber. "They may not bring it in until it's actually needed. Right before the votes."

 

"Or our whole theory is totally wrong," she said. "Look, let's retreat, I'll wire Queenie to do some digging at MACUSA, we'll work on it some more. At least nobody's seen us sneaking around in here."

 

"That may be about to change," said Newt. He clutched Tina's arm. "Someone's coming."

 

"I don't hear anything."

 

"Chaplin just stirred." Newt touched his collar   "A finickactus has very acute hearing. It must be time for the emergency vote. Hide!"

 

They scuttled to the top row of benches on the government side, and crouched down. Tina prepared to see six hundred self-important men troop in, ready for their role in democracy.

 

But only one man appeared. Tina knew him at once from newspaper photographs. It was the Minister for Magic, Sir James Fox.

 

He was tall, portly, and silver haired, with a small moustache. He carried something in his closed fist.

 

Newt drew breath in sharply. Tina elbowed him to be quiet.

 

Sir James strode, not to the speaker's chair, but to the opposition benches. Reaching up to the wooden balustrade which edged the public gallery, he opened his fist and placed what he held between two newel posts.

 

This done, he swiftly backed away, and hurried from the chamber.

 

Newt sprang up. "Tina-"

 

"I know. It must be about to wake up-"

 

There was no way Sir James could have completed his plan under the influence of a dubbalum. But his hasty exit suggested that that influence was about to burst to life.

 

Tina drew her wand, and ran down the steps, across the chamber and up the opposite steps. 

 

"The MPs are coming!" called Newt.

 

"I can't reach her-"

 

Tina could see the dubbalum, a tiny ball of midnight blue fluff, settled between two newel posts. It was above her head height. The fluff was stretching, wriggling like an animal roused from a long sleep-

 

The main chamber doors flung open and men began to pour into the room.

 

The dubbalum froze. Then she scrunched into an even smaller ball, like a hedgehog curling up, like a cat about to spring.

 

There was no time for Tina to coax her, no time to build rapport. At any moment the dubbalum would begin her defence against this roomful of huge, heavy-footed, rumbling men. The confusion would spread, and nobody, not Tina or Newt, would be able to think clearly enough to escape.

 

The dubbalum began to hum. Tina felt it between her ears, like a half-remembered song, or a dream drifting away on waking. The hum grew louder, making Tina wonder what the tune was, and where she might go and look it up, not now, but perhaps some day -

 

She shook herself, and screwed up her face against the sound. The dubbalum! The dubbalum was awake and defending itself.

 

Tina had to act, had to do the thing she hoped to avoid. "Newt," she said, "stay back!" as he began to climb the stairs towards her. He halted on the second step. Tina turned quickly to meet his upturned gaze. "Trust me," she said, and spun round to raise her wand at the dubbalum.

 

The tiny dubbalum reared up as the politicians crowded into the chamber. And Tina pointed her wand, silently asked forgiveness from MACUSA, the Ministry and Newt, and said words she had been told never to say, ending with a whispered, " _Tardetimpane_."

 

The dubbalum gave one squeak,  toppled, and fell from the gallery. 

 

Newt, horrified, sprang forward, hands outstretched. His shoulder slammed into the top bench and he slid along it. The dubbalum fell into his cupped hands and Newt lay, gasping in pain and shock.

  

"What have you done?"  The dubbalum lay utterly still in his palm, a bobble of midnight coloured fluff. Tears ran down Newt's face and he did not wipe them away.

 

Tina, eyeing the startled politicians, said, "We gotta go -"

 

"This was not the answer," Newt said. His voice cracked. "This is never the answer."

 

"I can explain. But -"

 

"No, you can't. You cannot explain this to me."

 

He tried to dodge Tina's hand,  but she gripped his wand arm, muttered three words and apparated them out of there.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Tina brought them to a pub called the Barometer, where they had left Newt's case with an old school chum of his. The pub lurked in an alley which sloped down to the Thames, and was as murky inside as the midnight waters of the river. The school friend, a silent woman with green hair, polished glasses behind the bar and whistled commands at her house elves.

 

The moment they arrived, Newt slipped from her grasp, and ran to his case. Without a word he climbed inside, carrying the dubbalum, and the lid flipped shut behind him.

 

Tina leaned on the bar. "Do you have a phone?" she asked. "I need to make a call."

 

The green-haired woman nodded at a booth on the back wall. She frowned at Tina, drooping against the bar. "Coffee," she sad, and whistled at an elf.

 

Tina gathered herself, and called the Ministry of Magic. "Porpentina Goldstein, Major Investigations. I need to contact MACUSA," she said. "Can you take down a wire?"

 

She was eventually put through to the United States Liaison Office, and a reliable-sounding elf who took down every encoded word of her message. She spilled the beans on Sir James, he dubbalum, and the threat to UK government.

 

With any luck, the wire would reach MACUSA before Sir James got back to the Ministry and learned that she'd sent it.

 

After that, Tina slumped in a chair and drank coffee. The case was still shut. She knocked on it, but there was no response.

 

She got up and went out for a walk.

 

Outside, the sun was rising. She stopped a newspaper man pushing a handcart, and took one of his papers.

 

The headline read, _Government Defeated. Deregulation Bill Thrown Out. Negotiations Start with Workers Over Pay. Sir J to Resign?_

 

Good. And soon, MACUSA operatives eould be collecting Sir James and asking him searching questions about using a magical creatures to influence muggle politics.... and about his cruelty to such a creature.

 

Tina shivered. Was she just as cruel?

She came back inside the Barometer and tossed the paper on a table. She smooth her hair, not that it made a difference, then opened the case and went to find Newt.

 

* * *

 

He had created a new habitat,  rocky and wild,  for the dubbalum. Tina found him crouched beside a smooth grey boulder, the tiny dubbalum lying still on the stone. Newt's wand was in his hand, but limply. He looked exhausted.

 

"She's not dead," Tina said.

 

"I can't wake her up." He would not raise his head to look at Tina.

 

"Let me."

 

"Tell me what spell it was. I'll do it."

 

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Sat down on the boulder beside the pitiful form of the dubbalum. "You can't. It was part of our special training. As aurors. To contain immediate threat."

 

"She was not-"

 

"I know. Self defence. But still, I had to stop her."

 

He shook his head, his gaze still on the dubbalum.

 

"It's a spell of slow sleep," said Tina. " _Tardetimpane_. It sends the recipient into a sleep between one heart beat and the next. Some people call it _mortesimulare_ , because it looks like death." She was talking, but Newt did not move or react. "It was originally used to prevent battlefield injuries causing pain, but then it was adopted by the dark arts as a means of controlling someone."

 

"This is how they stopped her confusing them while she was in captivity?" He lifted his head for a moment's glance at her face. There was nothing in his eyes, no warmth, no flicker of humour.

 

Tina said, "You'd already proved to them that there wasn't another way."

 

He bent his head.

 

"To undo it I need to cast the Lyre," she said. "A musical spell that speeds up the drum, the heart."

 

He made a hopeless, _get on with it,_ motion.

 

Tina took out her wand. The Lyre was difficult, but the coffee helped. She concentrated all her energy into the spell, with every breath willing the dubbalum to wake, to recover, to begin living again, in Newt's care.

 

As she worked the spell, her eyes on the dubbalum, she became aware of Newt, watching her. In her peripheral vision she saw his tense face, pale and streaked with tears.

 

At last she sighed and said, "That's all I can do. She should wake up naturally in a few minutes."

 

"Should," said Newt. He touched the dubbalum's dark fur.

 

"There's always a risk with slow sleep. It's why it's illegal - except in cases of national emergency. Sometimes people don't wake up."

 

His face showed anguish, and revulsion at Tina.

 

"I've never used it before," she said. "But tonight -"

 

He shook his head.

 

She reached for his shoulder. "Newt -"

 

He writhed away, his face set. His eyes were trained on the dubbalum. It was as if Tina were not there.

 

Tina swallowed. He was right, of course. There was no excuse for hurting an innocent creature. But she had done what she thought best. That was all.

 

She felt her own tears coming, the result of exhaustion and misery, and so she got up quickly and walked away, past the finickactus, and all the other creatures, back to Newt's workshop. Outside, it was 14th February, St Valentine's Day, but in here, there was nothing but heartbreak and loss.

 


	9. Chapter 9

_Dear Mr Scamander.  I'm sorry I had to do what I did to the dubbalum. I truly could see no alternative. I hope she recovers quickly and that you get the chance to take her back to her colony._

Tina wrote on the back of someone else's love letter, an apricot sheet that smelled of rosewater. It wasn't her choice, but there was no other paper in Newt's cluttered workshop.

_I'm going back to New York. I don't expect we will meet again._

_I wish you well. Knowing you-_

 

Every word came out so slowly, eked from her pen one scratch at a time.

 

_Has_

_Been_

 

She blinked rapidly and wrote the last word in a rush.

 

  
_Wonderful_.

 

It was true, and it made everything worse. She signed, _Yours sincerely, P Goldstein_ , and folded the sheet in two.

 

She stopped in the act of placing it on his desk. A warm, furry body had just slithered up her back. She kept still, and the finickactus shimmied past her neck and arranged itself across her shoulders.  "Well. Hello."

 

It was not Chaplin, but the violet finickactus, the female. "What's your name? Not Chaplin. You're too pretty. Gish, maybe. " She tentatively stroked the finickactus, then jumped as two eyes opened in what she had thought was the tail.

 

"Well, I can't go with you wrapped all around me, can I?" Tina stood, and sighed. "Come on, back to -" Newt, but she could not say his name right now.

 

The finickactus snuggled around Tina's neck, giving off waves of comfort and contentment. Newt had certainly been right about these creatures' magical power to console. Tina frowned. 

 

She worked her way out through the jumble of boxes and crates in Newt's workshop, and went hunting for him in the habitats. He was, unsurprisingly, still  in the rocky wilderness he had created for the dubbalum.

 

The disorientation shook Tina as soon as she grew near. The dubbalum was awake, then. That was good. But if Newt stayed near the creature too long, trying to calm it, he would surely go insane. Wouod he accept her help?

 

Not for himself. -But perhaps, for the dubbalum. She bit her lip and pushed through the maelstrom of flying thoughts to reach his side.

 

Newt looked up. His face was expressionless, but his mouth was pressed tight shut.

 

"I know how to comfort the dubbalum," she said.  "I mean, I think I know. You're the expert." Whatever she said sounded offensive now. She shook her head. "The finickactus."

 

Newt's eyes widened. For a moment he looked like the man she knew - full of wonder and hope. Then he ducked his head away.

 

Tina gently took hold of the violet finickactus and lifted it off her shoulders. 

 

Newt took it from her in such a way that their hands did not touch. He lay the violet finickactus on the boulder and with an expert pinching motion, picked up the little dubbalum.

 

"She wouldn't eat her, would she?" asked Tina in sudden alarm.

 

"No. The finickactus is a herbivore."

 

He lay the dubbalum on the finickactus' warm furry back. The violet creature wound itself at once into a tight spiral, forming a nest with the dubbalum sitting on top, in the centre.

 

Tina felt the pressure in her temples receding.

 

The finickactus began to purr.

 

Chaplin poked his head out from Newt's collar at the sound. "Hush," said Newt. "This isn't about you."

 

He and Tina watched as the violet finickactus raised and lowered her spines, in a kind of soothing wave. The dubbalum closed its eyes -

 

-And the confusion switched off. It was like a silence inside Tina's head. She had space, she could think again.

 

Chaplin slid out from Newt's collar and up to the coiled violet finickactus. She raised her head. Chaplin stretched out and made a brisk purring noise.

 

The violet finickactus tucked her head away once more, but rather than dismissal, this seemed to be agreement, for Chaplin slipped around the outside of his curled friend, making a larger circle, and settled against her, matching his spine rise-and-fall to hers.

 

"It worked!" Newt bent over the trio of creatures. "It worked." His hair fell over his eyes and he stroked the dubbalum gently, engrossed. 

 

Tina got up and brushed off her pants. "I'm glad. Well. Goodbye."

 

She walked away, and climbed up the ladder in his workshop, and out of the case. 

 

Halfway to Waterloo Station she realised she had let her hat behind, but it was too late, and she didn't care.

 


	10. Chapter 10

"Miss Goldstein! Miss Goldstein!"

One always hopes to hear one's name called urgently along a crowded railway platform, but it is still a surprise when it actually happens.

Tina, hunched on a wooden bench with her travelling bag, looked up and saw Newt's blue coat through the throng.

He arrived in front of her, breathless, hair wild. "What are you doing?" he said. "Don't go."

She stood up. She could not think of anything to say which would not open wounds.

She began to walk along the platform, thinking that she would step behind one of the enormous iron roof pillars, and apparate away. She could have done that in the first place. She was only using the train to reach the docks at Southampton, because the railway journey would pass the time.

"Wait. Miss Goldstein. Please."

She stopped, smoke swirling at her ankles, shafts of late afternoon light slanting among the crowds, and waited while Newt darted around to face her.

"I read your letter," he said. "Please stay. -The dubbalum is fine, she's going to be absolutely fine."

Hope uncoiled in Tina's heart like an occamy leaving its egg. She clamped it back down. "I know what I did was dangerous. But I didn't know what else -"

"You're an auror," he said. "You have to make those decisions. To protect people."

"I would never deliberately harm an animal -"

"I know. I know that."

They stared at each other.

The whistle shrieked for passengers to board the train. The air was filled with shouts and footsteps, the clatter of luggage carts, and the raucous brakes of trains chuffing into the terminus.

Newt said, "Can we-" He stopped. "May I -" He lay his hand over his wand.

"Ok."

He lifted her bag, then wrapped his hand around her elbow and whisked them away.

* * *

Fresh clean air brushed Tina's cheek. She saw trees, and railings. "Where is this?"

"Oh. Hyde Park."

There were deer. Red deer roamed free among yellow February grass, and on the horizon, through a haze of oak and beech trees, Tina saw crowded buildings.

It was dusk, a clear evening, and the sky glowed halfway between pink and lilac. To the east the colour deepened into night. Bright dots of light twinkled overhead, a miracle after the smoke and chaos of London.

"Shall we... walk?" Newt ushered her towards a gravel path.

"All right."

For a while there was only the sound of stones under their shoes, and a last thrush calling itself to bed. They passed beneath some trees, and into an open meadow with a wide sky overhead, stretching down towards a distant view of the city. Tina breathed in cool night air, so different to New York.

Newt seemed content to walk beside her, hands clasped behind his back, his head turning this way and that at every chirrup.

Tina let the quiet calm her. She had come to England to help Newt Scamander, and now she had helped him. That must be enough. The ache in her throat, the soreness that she might not see him again - it would pass.

She glanced at Newt, and caught him glancing at her. They exchanged embarrassed smiles, and walked on.

After a while, she said, "There aren't thirty-six steps. For the finickactus. There are thirty-seven." She stopped, and turned her face to the sky, then back to Newt.

He drew his brows together.

"It's the first step," she said. "At the very beginning. Consent."

His mouth formed an _Oh_.

"No girl wants to sit through a load of lovemaking if the guy hasn't even asked her if she's free. I mean." Tina shrugged. "She might be washing her hair."

His eyes lit up. "Consent! That makes sense. In their other interactions, the finickactus have a complicated performance which establishes the hierarchical position of everyone there before any transaction can take place -" He stopped.

"You missed it, I think, because of how you are. But we saw Chaplin ask permission," she said. "To help comfort the dubbalum."

"So we did." He shook his head. "Well, I stand thoroughly corrected... Miss Goldstein."

"Tina."

His eyes flicked to her face and away, then back, a look of naked hope that made her blush. He ducked away again.

"Look," said Newt, "stars."

* * *

_Stars_. The word rang a bell. With a tremor, Tina remembered: they'd talked about it when she'd first arrived, and were watching the finickactus. Was that only a day ago?

They had watched the female finickactus' rejection of Chaplin, and Tina had sketched how humans went about courtship. _Dinner, dancing, a walk under the stars._

"Oh," she said. Things fell into place. Newt's cupboards were stuffed with food, yet he took them out to eat. There was dancing in the pub, interrupted by Fox's thugs. Then dancing at the House of Commons, too - even though Newt must have already known that the dubbalum, if anywhere, would be in the chamber. "Oh."

He walked beside her, looking slantwise into her face.

She thought of his first letter, before the trouble started. She still had it. It was brief, and stilted - but he must have sent that wire the moment he reached land.

He said, "What do you mean, because of how I am?"

She smiled. "You always ask," she said.

He gazed at her, open-mouthed.

"And now I think," she said. "that you, sometimes you... like to be asked." She had never been bold, even though he had done everything to encourage her.

She said, "May I?" and stepped close to him.

His gaze slid sideways and back. His mouth twitched a smile. "Yes." He tilted towards her, folding his hands into hers, then closed his eyes for her kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

"You could stay in New York," Newt said, tucking Tina more securely against his shoulder as they swung in the hammock. "I'll be travelling a lot of the time. You could even work."

 

Married women didn't work. That was a fact. Marry, stop work, live on your husband's income, make a home.  Of course, he had not mentioned marriage. But a girl doesn't accept an invitation into a hammock without expectations. And this was Newt. Honour shone from him like a New England lighthouse.  "I could work," she said. 

 

All was peaceful in Newt's workshop. Outside, creatures cheeped and whooped, but in here all was quiet and warm. A storm lantern dangled from the rafters, its light a yellow circle on the sandy floor. A small stove threw out heat. And Newt sprawled in his hammock, his coat and jacket flung aside, Tina draped against his chest. She had thrown off her own coat, too, and lay beside him, her stockinged feet against his. It was rather intimate, but what the heck. They were alone, and adults. This was the twentieth century, for Pete's sake!

 

It was hard to say how they ended up in the hammock. In Hyde Park she'd kissed him, right on the lips like the kind of girl she wasn't. He kissed her back, as simple as water, and held her close, and kissed her again, and grinned uncontrollably.

 

In the movies, an umbrella always appeared for the hero and heroine to smooch behind. Here, as stars twinkled above and deer cropped the grass a few yards away, Tina felt exposed.

 

Newt held her hand. His palm was rough. -All that beast wrangling. "Shall we go back to my workshop?"

 

"Yes, or we'll give some old couple walking their dog a terrible fright."

 

He folded her travelling bag into his pocket without seeming to think about it, and slipped his arm around her shoulders. "I've fallen in love with you," he said, and apparated them back to The Barometer.

 

A minute later they were climbing into the case and then Newt flung away his coat and held out his hand, and here they were.

 

"You could continue as an auror," said Newt. "I know it means a lot to you."

 

"Yes."

 

"Or you could move to England. I have a house. In Putney."

 

"Putney!" It was a comedy name, a ridiculous name.

 

"Dormer windows, gardens that run down to the river..... It's nice. You could join the Ministry. Or teach." He looked askance at her. "We have a very good wizarding school in Scotland."

 

"Hilarious."

 

He laughed and stroked her hair. His every touch told amazement and gratitude. She thought she would never tire of that.

 

"I want to go back to Peru," he said. "I barely got started there. And there's a big illegal trade in screech hamsters."

 

"Screech...."

 

"Hamsters. They burrow into the base of ancient hardwoods, making them easy to cut down. Unregistered logging companies love them. They make short work of harvesting mahogany, even ironeood.  And they screech. -Or maybe India. Nine-legged mumps have been sighted, but they're too nimble for anyone to get close. Their habitat is disappearing - they live in the skyquick trees, which grow as fast as the mumps can climb - "

 

Tina pressed her face into his shoulder. Newt's shirt was soft from wear, from being washed in many strange rivers, from being bleached under many foreign suns.  "Or I could go with you," she said.

 

"What?"

 

She trailed her hand down his chest. He caught hold of it, held it over his heart. She said,  "I could go with you."

 

"I would never ask -"

 

"I know. But I'd like to. And when you're exposing these poachers and thieves, you might be able to use someone who knows a little about the dark arts. If you want me."

 

"If I want you-"

 

He clutched her and contrived to flip them in the hammock so that he leaned over her, his fringe tumbling over his eyes.  "Yes I want you," he said. "To come with me." He kissed her mouth, then her throat, then her mouth again, gentle kisses, but full of need.

 

She smiled. In three seconds he'd gone from diffident affection to urgent passion. She could get used to this.

 

"I'm sorry,"  he said, sitting up and nearly sending the hammock into a spin. "I forgot. The end of the ritual."

 

He fumbled for his waistcoat, bundled up as a pillow. "Aha. Here. Had it for weeks, actually." He brought out his closed hand. "Please will you marry me?"

 

"Yes," she said. And Newt smiled a sweet frank smile, and kissed her, and  in his palm lay a slim gold ring.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Queenie,_

_Sorry I haven't written sooner. Everything is OK and so is Newt. I'll tell more when I see you, but first of all I want to ask you to come to England, as soon as you can, because I'm going to marry Newt and I want you to be there. Yes, it's true, and when you see us you'll know right away how happy we both are._

_There's so much to tell but I want to get this to an owl right now, so I'll save the rest til I hear from you. I've missed you._

_Your sister,_

_Tina._

_PS - I might not be able to read minds, but I know you've been sneaking to see Jacob. The rules are different over here, Queenie. Think about it.   I know Newt would love to see him too.  How about you bring him with you?_

 

FIN

 

* * *

 

  
**Author's Note** : Thanks for reading. I hope you've enjoyed this. I have to admit, on a long drive today to see my folks before Christmas, I may have thought up a Yuletide sequel involving curses, lies and a winter bride. But we'll have to see. (Edit: I may also have just written 1000 words of it whilst in a highly inconvenient hotel room next to the Dartford Bridge. I just can't help myself!) Let me know if you'd like more! -Sef


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